Mother’s touch

 

Mother’s touch always had that magic of a doctor

Sans that ugly smell of medicines

Remember once, just before Durga Pujo,

Had fever, Maha Shashti; it was the day,

The day which always began the festivities

Ma sat beside my cot,

Putting wet towel over my forehead

Her bangles made curious sounds every time she touched my head;

 

With end of her saree she would wipe my face, reddened lobes of ears,

And her voice would ring like nursery rhymes

In my half drowsy state would I hear her singing songs for me

The way how Maha Shashti slipped away to Dashami didn’t notice

Then one fine morning, woke up without temperature,

with Ma just beside my cot, holding a box of crayons.

 

Moinak Dutta is a fiction writer and poet. He has had many works published, including Online@ Offline and In Search of La Radice.

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